


The Death of a Shirt

by Ariel Rose (thatchaoticart)



Series: An Officer and a President [2]
Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: M/M, basically canon but not het, fitz deals with emotions with dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchaoticart/pseuds/Ariel%20Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake gets the opportunity to hold Fitz for questioning.  R.I.P. to Fitz's shirt, but it went to a good cause.  Takes place after 4x5, "The Key."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of a Shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoMiddleGround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMiddleGround/gifts).



> I am terrible for taking 30 years to write a sequel to [Officer's Orders](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3725521).

President Fitzgerald Grant had been surprised when the two B613 agents retrieved him after a late-night teleconference with Britain’s prime minister, but his surprise turned to indignation and rage in the split second it took the agents to explain that they had to cuff him, as he was under arrest.

He couldn’t  _ wait _ to get his hands on Jacob Hamilton Ballard.

And so they found themselves staring one another down in the interrogation room once again.  This time their roles were reversed, with Fitz’s hands cuffed and in his lap as he sat at the lone table.  Whereas the harsh fluorescent lighting from above cast his face into stark shadows and angles, it complemented Jake’s eyes, turning green into translucent sea-glass as they focused on Fitz.  Contempt etched its way across Fitz’s face in the slightest twist at the corners of his mouth and in the cold, dark depths of his pupils.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“As Agents Morton and Weiss said, you’re under arrest.”

Fitz’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the motion sent a shiver down Jake’s spine.  He’d been preparing for his moment ever since he took the reins of B613 -- ever since he knew what he could do with Fitz.   _ To  _ Fitz.

So Jake circled around the president, a predator eyeing his prey.  The annoyance rolling off him was so palpable Jake could practically taste it, just as he could almost taste the sweat beading on Fitz’s neck and the bit of chest exposed by his undone top two buttons.

“Bullshit.”

“Always the smart one.  That’s why you’re the head honcho of the nation.”

Jake finally settled onto the edge of the table in front of Fitz, close enough for his legs to rest against Fitz’s knees.  While the chair was affixed to the floor, his ankles weren’t cuffed, and he parted his thighs easily, almost automatically.  Jake’s cock twitched in response.

“Aren’t you easy today,” he remarked dryly, half to himself.

Then without warning, he grabbed Fitz’s shirt and yanked down, ripping every button free of fabric; they pinged off the table and floor, and he noted the quickening of Fitz’s breath and the flush across his chest and up his ears.

“It’s a good thing that wasn’t my favorite shirt,” Fitz finally said, the baritone of his voice curling into Jake’s ears and sliding down his spine.

“Mm-hmm, because ripped shirt is worse than knowingly defacing government property not too long ago.”

Jake smirked even while his blood ran hotter at the memory of the last time.

“At least, I guess they consider it defacement if you fuck someone on the Oval Office desk.”

Fitz set his jaw and his eyes grew icily sharp, but something in the lines of his face shifted.  It was miniscule, but it didn’t get past Jake, nor did the swipe of Fitz’s tongue across his lips.  Otherwise, Jake would’ve assumed he was seeing in Fitz a reflection of what he saw in himself: desire etching across his features and into his body language.

Unlike their last meeting in this room, they’d had time to lick their wounds.  Jake remembered the look in Fitz’s eyes so well.  It was the expression of a father desperate for answers about his son, a man seeking answers even within people he knew didn’t have them.

But he knew Jake would give him the answers to question he was too afraid, too proud, to ask, even to himself.  He might have others think it, but he wasn’t a man to heal his wounds with gentle caresses and soothingly loving words.  Both men silently agreed not to think of it like that, but they knew.

So Jake gave Fitz this chance to revisit their past rendezvous and the needs that went unspoken last time.  They couldn’t have even dreamt of being able to with all the eyes that had been on them at that time, but now they were alone.  Now, it was just them and they were here again.

“And you were an accomplice,” Fitz’s voice came out scratchy.  “You love to pretend nothing has to do with you.  Makes you a good soldier and agent.”

His mouth curled into a sneer and awakened a primal part of Jake.  He stopped holding back and finally leaned down to sink his teeth into Fitz’s bottom lip hard enough to draw a little blood.  He watched Fitz’s pupils go wide before he soothed the bite with his tongue, moving into a kiss.  It wasn’t a romantic or particularly thoughtful kiss, but harsh and hot, frantic and somehow needy, and it sent blood pooling low in Jake while fire raced up his spine.

Then Fitz palmed him over his pants, earning a “ _ fuck! _ ” followed by a groan and a roll of hips into his hand.  It didn’t last long, as Jake suddenly leaned back and slapped Fitz across the face.  It felt way too satisfying for his own good.

“You forget I’m Command now.”

He grabbed Fitz’s waistband and deftly undid his belt, then fly.

“And you think I give a damn?”

Jake grabbed him under the arm and hoisted him to his feet before he slammed him back against the table (which was smartly bolted down to the floor).  He jammed his knee between Fitz’s thighs, pushing up against Fitz’s own erection.  A flush spread up the president’s chest and neck, but Jake didn’t take time to admire it before he was kissing Fitz again and pushing his pants down.

“You  _ should  _ give a damn.”

Jake’s fingers closed expertly around Fitz’s cock and immediately the other man bucked up as he had so many times before.  With his other hand he fished a tiny bottle out of his pocket while Fitz worked on  _ his  _ pants, tricky for someone in cuffs but he was managing fine.  They demonstrated their superior multitasking skills to exactly no one but each other, and looking back Jake would later find it amazing what people are capable of doing all in the name of getting off.

But in the moment, all he can think of is being inside Fitz --

So he shoved Fitz down onto his back, noting the slightest of shudders as his skin met the cold metal of the table through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Jake grabbed his cuffed wrists and yanked his arms up over his head, pinning him with locked arm and the pressure of his body.

“Get me out of these things.”  Fitz grumbled against his mouth, struggling against him.

“Hell no.”

Jake stroked Fitz a few more times before he moved back to slide one finger inside Fitz.  Fitz’s back arched as he pushed against Jake’s hand, clenching around his finger.  Jake took his time and spent precious minutes pressing against the spot that made Fitz see stars before he slid in a second.

“C’mon,” Fitz huffed, hips moving erratically of their own accord.  “Goddamnit, Jake.”

Jake had to agree as he was drained of all coherent thought and felt dizzy with need, so he pulled his fingers away, grabbed Fitz’s hip -- still holding tight to his wrists -- and pulled him down onto him.  Jake’s head fell forward, mouth open as sensation exploded inside him.  Fitz was tight and hot and  _ perfect _ , so familiar and comfortable, one of the few constants in his life.

“Mm -- faster,” Fitz demanded but as usual was met with the opposite action as Jake pulled him all the way onto his cock and stayed there, hips stilled.  His mouth was cocked in a half-grin, but his eyes were dark and serious.

Then Fitz maneuvered one of his hands to grab Jake’s fingers and pull back.  Pain shot through Jake and slammed his hips against Fitz’s.  He grabbed his thigh, hoisting his leg up around his hip.

“If you want me to leave right now, all you’ve gotta do is tell me.  Is that what you want, Fitz?”

Fitz’s glare cut like daggers and he moved his hips against Jake’s as he resumed his rhythm.

“Fuck you.  No.”

“‘No’ what?”

He grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight.

“No.  Don’t fucking stop.  Make me come, Ballard.”

Jake couldn’t hold out for long, unfortunately -- and that was enough to almost do him in -- too many of his nerves were screaming from the feeling of Fitz around him.  He distantly felt his hand finally leave Fitz’s wrists and grab his other hip, and vaguely realized Fitz had looped his arms around his neck.

“That’s -- that’s what I like to hear.  C’mon…”

Jake murmured more frantically, lips catching Fitz’s as he trembled and finally came, hips jerking erratically until Fitz came after just a few more strokes, spilling between them.  Jake’s head fell forward onto Fitz’s neck, breath rolling across his collarbone.  They weren’t ones for pillow talk, so he pushed up and pulled out -- earning a wordless shudder from Fitz -- and began cleaning up.

“Well?  Am I free to go?”

Fitz’s tone was dry again, and Jake grinned as he fished the key out of his pocket.  With a click, the handcuffs were off again.

“Yeah, back to your duties.  For now.”

Fitz scowled and rubbed his wrists.  They were red from Jake holding them down, and he felt smug as he noted it.

“You owe me a new shirt.”

Jake laughed.

“Put it on my tab, Mr. President.”


End file.
